In Pursuit of the Ideal
by Mistykins06
Summary: What is it about Molly Hoopers small apartment that makes it an ideal bolt hole? A Sherlloly wash on the LM Montgomery short story by the same name.
1. Chapter 1

The Pursuit of the Ideal.

There was a small apartment that Sherlock Holmes used as a bolt hole to hide from the world. Tiny, even by London standards, the single bedroom, single bath and small living area was joined by what was generously referred to as a kitchen. It's housed worn,'antique' furniture that would once have been described as plush but now was considered worn in all the right places. The small space called and welcomed him to sit and settle in into it as siren would bid a sailor to slip into the sea. And it's mistress, while no siren herself was a spectacularly obliging hostess to her wayfaring guest. Always there with a warm cup of coco or something stronger depending on the night where the two would sit and chat late into the night while he avoided whatever trouble lay outside the doors of what he refers to as his 'snuggery'. They spoke of childhoods, of books, of family and eventual aspirations, but never the present. Never what evil was lurking out there for him on danger nights, and never about their professional relationship. No, this was a unique unspoken agreement. In this time they were just friends: Sherlock and Molly. His visits weren't regular, and never scheduled but both parties certainly enjoyed the simple, quiet time together till he felt ready to brave the world once more.

It was on such a night where Sherlock Holmes could be found stretching himself out in an easy chair, letting out a tremendous groan of comfort.

"Molly, this chair is one of the most comfortable spots on all the world." He sighed once more.

Molly smiles "My Uncle Larry was fond of that chair. Aunt Maud said it fit the lazy mans kinks just right."

"I am not a lazy man." He denied. "You Molly of all people know that."

"I like being a lazy person too, you knows. " She laughed handing him a cup of coco with a peppermint in it. He allowed himself to smile I return.

" Thank you." He drank for a moment. " You really are a good friend to me. Im so comfortable being here with you, discussing things with you."

Molly blushed a bit as she drank deeply from her own mug.

"And you something to tell me today don't you Sherlock? Oh we both know you do. Come on then. Let's hear your confession detective." She held her breath. Not allowing herself to hope for longer than a breath that he'd say she meant more than a cup of coco and a comfy spot to crash to him.

He got to his feet as a gravely serious look over took him. "Molly, I have found my Ideal."

The small woman kept her eyes him, unable to respond. What was he saying?

Sitting down once more he spoke again. " You see there, right there? You have a certain genius sometimes for silence Molly. If you asked the stupid questions like John always does, then I wouldn't get the satisfaction of telling you everything myself. Bravo Molly!"

His hostess remained quiet and he took it as a sign to continue.

"Your remember of course? That night we discussed what our ideal partner would be? "

Molly would never forget. They'd laid at opposite ends of her bed and he had told her of the woman of his dreams. He described a Venus. Tall, slender, chestnut brown hair that shone, with the hint of a ripple to it. That he'd thought of the tone her skin must be ( ivory, of course bearing the expression of a Madonna) on an oval shaped face had amused her a bit. Eyes a peaceful blue, but deep and as tender as an evening sky. Then they had laughed because such a woman couldn't exist. A fantasy. One that, given his desire to stay committed to his work was little more than leftovers from childhood fairy tale princess that, he the brave knight would rescue.

Molly had even been slightly at peace with her desire for the handsome detective. She was short, and her hair was a light mousy brown and straight as straw. Her completion dark and freckled. As for her eyes, the resembled a dark night rather than a twilight lit evening. Knowing she would never be what he wanted had freed her to let him go. Most of the time she believed it too.

"Molly? Are you alright?" She asked with a turn of his head.

"What? Oh. OH! Yes, just a bit shocked! Do tell me how you met her. Go on then."

Sherlock frowned. Molly's expression was solemn, not her normal peaceful gaze. Yet,in the same moment she looked as though she might be laughing at him. Women.

"My brother called me in on a highly secret case, I went to go see a... Well a woman who is saving some sensitive materials that I needed to obtain. But Molly, she was so stunningly beautiful! I laid eyes on her and knew she was something incredible. We even made plans to have dinner soon." He was so nearly joyous.

"Do perfect women with Madonna faces eat?" She asked in a joking tone. Anything to hide that she was dying inside.

Clearing his throat he stood once more. "I will confess to you Molly that I did not expect you of all people to make fun of me about this. " His voice turned cold. "It's unlike you. I'm not telling you anymore about it. Lest it bore you. I need to get back to Baker Street anyways."

He grabbed his signature coat and scarf and swirled them on. When his hand turned the knob she called out.

"Sherlock, wait! That was horrid of me! I shouldn't have laughed I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Forgive me?" She managed a weak smile.

Holding her eyes, weighing her seriousness. He finally nodded, but still set out to leave.

"Aren't you at least going to tell me your Ideals name?" She called out.

"Irene. Irene Adler." And he pulled the door shut behind him.

* * *

><p>AN : I would have listed this as a cross over if LM Montgomery's short story had been listed. The inspiration is all her on the situation that I've thrown Sir, Arthur Conan Doyals Sherlock and SM/MG Molly Hooper. I own nothing of any of them.

If you wish for spoilers, the story is found I the At The Alter collection of her short stories. Or you can wait for the second of 3 installments. Soon. Very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

It was two, busy weeks before Sherlock found himself needing to return to the familiarity of Molly's Abode.

He got there, craving his chair and her coco and hoping that Molly would be able to get his head straight about this mess Irene was causing him. How could someone so alluring and well suited to him be so difficult to get a handle on? Not that he truly wanted a relationship, but you don't come across a brilliant and beautiful woman who could make your head spin with a single look everyday. Especially when you are Sherlock Holmes. He needed someone to help him gather his thoughts. Someone safe. And that someone was Molly.

He knocked on her faded blue door and when it opened he pushed his way in anxious to speak to her of Irene's convincing charms and fearsome faults. "Molly-" he stopped when his eyes hung on to an unfamiliar 6 ft frame lounging comfortably in HIS chair as if he owned it. A very handsome, very male frame at that.

Molly motioned him in. "Come on in Sherlock! We were just catching up. This is Max and Max, this is Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock meet Max Grayson. Oh well, I guess you have- just now. Anyhow, he and I attended medical school together. Max just moved back to the city and we've just been catching up a bit this afternoon. Sherlock, max have you heard of him? He comes into he lab when he need- things. "

The man in question stood, shook hands. Sherlock studied him quickly. The man was a doctor, an oncologist from an upper middle class family. Enjoyed hands on activities and was recently single after a long, yet failed relationship. It been several months though and he was hoping to try again. With Molly. He seemed almost annoyed that Sherlock had arrived.

More worrying was that Molly clearly felt the same. She wore a new red sweater that gave her the appearance of a blush. Although the blush may have been from the conversation she and her guest were having before his arrival. Early, well received flirtatious overtures. Therefore he decided that he had arrived at a good moment. He sat down on the rickety stool Molly kept by her door, more for her bag than for a person.

Max made a move toward the door. "I should get going, where did the time go? I'm supposed to be meeting Jennings at the bar for a beer. Although I hate to go. This was ... Great to see you Molly. "

"We shouldn't wait so long to do it again." She replied a bit shyly. An almost awkward moment passed between the two, painful for Sherlock especially.

"How about we meet for dinner tonight then? Is that too soon you think?" Max asked eventually. Immediately Molly smiled brightly

nodded.

"Only if we go to Montgomery's for dessert afterwards."

"I'm sure that can be arranged." Max laughed. I'll be back to pick you up at say 7." It was agreed and they both stood awkwardly at the door till Max finally kissed her check and left. Molly shut the door and stood with her eyes closed leaned back against the door grinning like a fool.

"Well now that he's gone I suppose I can have MY chair back. " He said jumping from his awkward coot a settling in swiftly. "And I'll take my usual cup of coco as well."

Molly's eyes popped open and she blushed. Surely she hadn't forgotten that he'd been there? She quickly ducked into the kitchenette and

appeared with his favorite mug. She handed it to him, but didn't settle into the couch herself. She wondered almost dreamily instead toward her bedroom and opened her wardrobe to find what she would wear that evening. Sherlock remained in his chair, pouting and watching her choose what to wear on her date that night. He took a sip from the cup and found that instead of the regular mint coco a luxurious chocolate carmel met his tongue. He nearly spit it out in shock. It wasn't that it was bad, the salty carmel cut the sweetness expertly, but it wasn't what he had expected. Or wanted. But then neither, had he expected to find a man here and her found that he certainly didn't want him there as well.

"Out of mint coco?" He called to Molly who was buried deep in her clothes. God only knew what she was after.

"Oh, no. Max made that for me earlier. I can't believe he remembered it was my favorite after all these years!" She said excitedly.

"So he makes coco in his spare time?" He asked. Trying not to think about how he hadn't known Molly's favorite drink himself. Of course he'd never asked what her favorites were.

"Yes, his parents own a really good café. He can do a bit of everything after growing up and working there. Max bakes scrumptious cakes, can repair appliances and make divine drinks. He even got me a job there in the summers, although all I was really good for was cleaning up after they baked. And eating the delicious things he made me of course. "

He sulked as she sang of Max's many talents. And his past care of her

She shut her door and eventually came out dressed in a dress with long sheer sleeves and a Peter Pan color in a deep plum. It was a few years old but never worn. Modest yet alluring in its innocent cut. She stepped into the hall and called to him."How goes the pursuit of your ideal woman by the way?" Her hands were expertly pulling her long thick hair into a side braid. He hoped she was planning to pull it up into the knot he favored on her, but then remembered she was getting dressed for her date and changed his mind. It wasn't settling well him wearing her hair like that for Max.

Strolling over, Sherlock followed her as she returned to the bath to put the final details on her appearance and stood leaning on the frame, watching curiously as she prepared her self for her dinner date with a subtle touch up to her makeup. Sherlock seemed unable to speak of Irene as he watched Molly flit around.

His mind a bit hazy as it attempted to speak about the woman who when he first met her in person wore nothing but perfume and heels when the petite woman in front of him was applying a subtle polish to her already beautiful appearance. Not that the physical mattered, well much. There was no comparison between the two and it felt wrong to think of Irene's cunning eyes and tempting mouth while watching the fascinating way Molly's opened her own mouth as she lined her eyes. Studying, he watched her apply some sort of gloss over her lips. The effect made her lips far more noticeable, a deeper, richer color and far too damn kissable. When she out the container away, she turned to him. "How do I look?"

He swallowed. She looked lovely. But there was an irritable feeling niggling at him. It had taken her months to get over crush on him. He'd wanted her to move could be such great lab partners and yes, friends. But he could never be what someone like Molly Hooper would need in a domestic interest. And he certainly wasn't what she deserves. Max, howeverp was someone that would deserve her. At the thought, a flicker of jealousy passed over him, but he squashed it quickly. She deserved to be happy after all.

Taking a deep sigh, he responded. "More than adequate I'm sure." Keeping his voice and expression neutral.

Molly laughed, a charming, joyous laugh. Sherlock realized that he had never heard Irene's. Oh the ideal would smile, placidly if the need arose to express amusement, but she was always rigid and reserved in her expressions. It served as a reminder of just how much of a persona was rather than a personality. The tiny woman in front of him was the opposite. Molly was far too expressive to have an enigmatic persona.

"Well I suppose that's your version of okay." She was smiling as she brushed past him on the way out of the bathroom. Without thinking he reached our and held her arm as she passed, causing her to spin back toward him.

"You look well Molly." He said releasing her as swiftly as he'd grabbed her. She stood looking closely at him as he walked into the living area and slipped his coat back on.

"Your leaving? But instill haven't heard your updates!" Molly said, clearly confused.

"Yes, well you have somewhere to be, and I have to do some thinking. "

Neither of them commented that he normally would be doing that there.

"Have a good evening, Molly." And he left.

Turning out on the street and walked a great number of blocks when he heard his phone let out a now familiar moan. He lifted the screen and read.

I saw you on the street today. You didn't see me.- IA

He didn't reply. He never did regardless, but added that to his list of things to consider. Sherlock Holmes walked on


	3. Chapter 3

As the fall faded into unforgiving winter, Sherlock Holmes was finding his world to be a strange and unfamiliar place. His consulting business was thriving thanks to his flat mate, friend and blogger John Watson. The man who treated him as average as anyone else ever had and guided him through the difficulties of human interaction while providing excellent back up on cases. Mycroft had him on the Royals beck and call. A dominatrix was attempting to seduce him and he was being driven insane by the fact that the once adoring Molly had found not only a relationship, a serious one too. Joy.

Attempts at fighting the changes had been made. He'd attempted to drive John off. Shown up at Buckingham Place in no more than his bed sheet, been drugged by Irene when he let his guard down and Molly... Well she tried to act as though things were normal whenever he sought out his chair, cup and cat at her place. But each time he arrived it wasn't the same comfort it had once been.

In the short, final days of the year he stopped going there at all. He couldn't place why he felt so much more ennui when he thought of the tiny flat and it's occupants and how he no longer felt as welcome as he once did. He knew why it was different. There was another in his place. Another man who, much as he was loathed to admit could be capable of making Molly happy. One who was often there when he arrived and staying after he left. They couldn't talk with Max around and they stopped speaking of the Ideal at all.

The last time he'd gone by her flat was two weeks before Christmas though her male companion had been mercifully absent.

Sherlock had came in to her one evening after her shift and found it lit only by fairy lights. She had soft holiday music playing and a pot of soup going. She welcomed him in happily and offered him a bowl. He excepted and they settled in at her kitchen table and ate quietly. Every now and then Molly looked up and their eyes would catch. Molly finally laughed. " This is terrible. We can speak you know."

Sherlock allowed his lips to turn up. "It's been a while since I've gotten you alone. Perhaps I forgot the social pattern I'm supposed to be following. "

"Well then shall I remind you? You are supposed to ask me how I've been and what I've been up to. You politely pretend to listen and nod at every third thing I say. Then I shall ask you how you've been and you tell me. " She said with ease. Amusement filled her eyes.

Holding her eyes he asked. "How are you Molly?"

"Very well thank you. I'm enjoying the lovely Christmas season. We had our department Christmas party last night. Jones drank till he vomited on Stanford. I can't wait till he comes back from holiday to tease him about it. The work itself has been manageable. No terribly interesting cases which is why I'm sure we haven't seen you. How about you?"

He studied her. "Oh the same. John and I have been on some boring theft cases and one mildly interesting disappearance. But I'm sure you read about that." She nodded. Then stood to take their bowels to the kitchen.

"Have any plans for Christmas? Will you be going home to your parents?"

"Not if I can help it. I suppose it will be Mrs Hudson and I. John is abandoning London to go pretend to be happy with his sister." He said walking to his chair, slipping his shoes off and sitting down. Toby appeared as if by and magic and curled up in his lap. "Miss me little fellow?" He whispers quietly to the feline. An answering purr assured him that he hadn't lost the cats affection at least.

"What's Matt doing this evening? I trust nothing has happened between you two. " He called out striving to keep a bitter tint out of his voice. He failed.

"It's Max and you know it Sherlock." She said handing him a mug. "And he is out with Jennings fighting the crowds while Jennings shops for his kids."

"He seems to be spending a good deal of time here."

Molly looked at Sherlock with an expression that read 'as do you ' but said not a word.

"You two are getting closer after all." He said again trying to find what definition Max and Molly had.

"We're not dating exactly, but we're not well not dating either. It's a bit to soon after he and Angela. " Molly finally said with a slight tone of nervousness.

Sherlock hummed noncommittally and watched Molly settling in on the couch changing the subject. "So how goes the case with your Ideal?"

He didn't want to talk about that. " She seems to know just when I've gotten her out of my head and uses that moment to get my focus back to her." He finally answered.

"Have you asked her out yet?" Sherlock noticed her grab a decorative pillow and bring it to her lap playing with the fringe. His eyes never left her fingers as they traced the floral pattern.

"Why would I do that?" He asked a bit confused.

"To get to know her better. Have dinner with her. See how you too get along. What's the worst that can happen?" She said plainly.

Sherlock thought over the texts to 'have dinner.' Alot could happen actually.

"No, I don't think I can do that. Not yet." He finally answered.

"Oh come on Sherlock. You just managed to eat a meal with me, surely you could manage to eat with a beautiful, alluring and intelligent woman." She was staring at the pillow still. Sherlock wondered if she knew that she had just described herself as well as Irene Adler.

"Perhaps. But I don't think it's dinner that she implying." He watched as the realization hit her.

"Oh! Oh... well that's... That a bit forward really. " She said shock and embarrassment on her face.

Sherlock watched her debate to ask the next question and decided to ask it for her. "You are wondering why I'm still not taking her up on the offer?"

Molly nodded a bit ashamed that he'd known her thoughts and also relieved to have the question out there as well. Sherlock also noted that her fingers had transitioned from tracing to now grabbing the pillows edge hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

"I don't know why I haven't. I can only think that I'm waiting for her situation I reach, you'll forgive the phrase 'climax' and then... Perhaps." He admitted. Did he really intend to go that route with Irene? He couldn't deny that he did feel attracted to her.

"That sounds- reasonable." Molly finally decided. "It's just a matter of time and then, you'll have the perfect woman. Sherlock Holmes will be off the market." Ah, the discomfortable blush. She hated saying it. As much as he hatted hearing it.

"I was never on some eligible market to begin with. And it won't be like that with Irene. So don't go planning what to wear to my wedding just yet Molly. " Anger and annoyance surged within him.

"You mean you'd just want to.. To 'have dinner' and that be it? That's your end game with this perfect creature whose fascinated you? I never thought you that sort Sherlock. I never thought you where like-" Molly flashed with annoyance as well but quickly clamped her mouth shut when she almost said his name.

Jim. Moriarty. The man who had feigned interest and used her to get to him. Damn it.

"You know it's not the same." He challenged.

"Only because you both seem to understand the rules." She stood up and took his mug from him and walked at record speed to her kitchen. "You know maybe you should consider more. I'm sure the two of you would be just lovely together. It sounds like you deserve one another."

Sherlock stood to follow her. "Molly."

"I'm going to bed. Make yourself comfortable, or leave. Just do what you want if that makes you happy. That's all your looking for anyways." She spoke in a rush.

Sherlock strode over to her before she could make it in her door. He grabbed her arm and spun her back around till she faced him. Her gaze avoided his though, looking far past his shoulder at the Christmas tree. "Molly." He repeated.

Her deep brown eyes finally met his, the unshed tears reflecting the light of the room back to him. It was an oddly beautiful sight. Focusing in them he spoke.

"I'm not going to use her like Jim did you. In fact I think Irene is far more likely to be the one who'll use me and toss me aside when the next good offer comes along." Admitting the thought that had plagued him bitterly for weeks and feeling far too vulnerable for his liking he let Molly go and went back to slip on his shoes and then grabbed his coat. Pausing at the door, he turned to her one last time looking hard at her broken expression. "I will never be one to settle down Molly. There is no happily ever after in my future. I'm not like John or you, or anyone else who seeks a 'happily ever after'. I don't even really want this distracting dalliance with her. " Sherlock stepped towards Molly once more. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do, but I will see that she is not hurt, not that I'm sure it's even possible what ever our ending may be."

"So you do care for her then." Molly stated in a near whisper. "A great deal. Whatever that means for you."

"In a way perhaps. But I don't want you to imagine me as being some love sick fool. " he spoke calmly.

"I don't think I ever could." She spoke again soft and low her eyes on his mouth.

They were close. Too close and the lights were giving her living room a far to intimate feel.

"Goodnight Molly." And he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

After that night, Sherlock became nearly unbearable. He locked himself in his room and refused to eat or speak for nearly four days. Lestrade finally got him out by allowing him a assist with a large scale fraud scheme through a famous seasonal charity collector. No body meant no need to be bothered by a cheerful Christmas Molly. Sherlock had visions of her getting John and he matching festive jumpers or something equally as dreadful. He would avoid her till well after New Years if at all possible. And he absolutely would not think of her smiling in the twinkling fairy lights this Christmas Eve. A sight that he was sure her good friend Max was not going to be missing. Countless scenarios of the two of them advancing their friendship filled his mind both annoying and angering him. Sherlock pushed thoughts of why that hurt to be unable to speak to Molly in their familiar way. Pressing on he gave it over to being an inevitable event. Molly had amazing qualities and she deserved a chance of happiness. She had made poor romantic choices on the past. He wanted her to be happy but was having trouble reconciling why it hurt him so that she was finally on the path to getting it.

Burying himself into work, the days past with him sulking more than he had in a great while. John was off enjoying the Christmas season with whatever his newest conquest was, work slowed and he spent endless hours avoiding St. Bart's.

A week before Christmas, John announced that they would be throwing a small little cocktail party Christmas Eve. Mrs. Hudson was recruited to cook, John scrubbed the apartment and decorated halfheartedly with cheap gimmicks and fairy lights draped haphazardly about along with his girlfriend of the month. Janet or whoever she was even pushed the furniture around a bit to 'open the room up a bit' whatever the hell that meant. He tolerated it though. However, Sherlock drew the line at a tree, insisting that he was allergic.

The dreaded evening came, and Lestrade, Juliet if that's what her name even was, Mrs. Hudson and he all came together for chat about the humorous moments of the year. Mrs Hudson asked him to be a dear and play a Christmas tune for her. And he obliged, happy to make her happy on such a easy going evening.

After playing a lively simplistic version of 'We wish you a merry Christmas 'and feeling successful about avoiding wearing a ridiculous pair of antlers Sherlock forgot himself and reminded the group of just how replaceable Jeanette as her name turned out to be was using the cheap process of 'elimination'. Suddenly the sound of footsteps thundered loudly on the steps. Sherlock's attention went to the figure at the door.

Molly.

John haven't made any mention of her being invited or expected to be coming and he certainly had not invited her himself. Sherlock took in her overly styles hair and noted her tacky earrings and equally tacky bow in her hair along with her large bags of presents. He allowed a tired "Oh dear lord." As Molly came in making apologies about intruding but explaining that the note said to come on up.

Sherlock held a hope that she was just be stopping by to wish the residents of 221 Baker Street a Merry Christmas then heading off to another party. However, John made a move to assist her with her coat and it became clear that he had been the only one unaware that she had been invited as everyone greeted her warmly save him. "Everybody is saying hello to each other. How wonderful." He grumbled to himself. Why hadn't John said he was inviting Molly?

John helped Molly out of her coat and let out a surprised. "Holy Mary!" At the petite woman's attire and exposed figure.

Sherlock had not spoken to Molly since the night in her flat and he wasn't sure what to say to her now that she stood in his flat. He felt her gaze and knew she wanted to talk to him, but his reaction to her sudden appearance left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. She looked nothing like the Molly who he sat and drank coco with. Nor like he Molly he worked with a Bart's. This overtly feminine creature before him, the one who had spent a good deal of time on her hair and face wore a dress that emphasized each curve that she had. She was something beautiful behold but it felt wrong. Like she herself was far to exposed to be seen this publicly, which she was in her cocktail dress with the brasserie showing. That was something he felt should be private and definitely not something for George Lestrade to ogle in his living area. Before he called the man out on it, he moved to make himself as busy as possible and ignored the way her dress clung to her newly revealed curves. was far to tempting to look at.

It frustrated him that he had to fight the desire to stare at her. Judging by Johns exclamation of "Holy Mary", Geoff's slacken jaw he wasn't alone with that problem. Even Jeanette was sending envious looks towards her. Mrs Hudson though cooed as if she were as lovely as a doll.

"So were having Christmas drinkies then?" Molly giggled.

"No stopping them apparently." Sherlock spoke, then chastised himself. He didn't want to talk to her. Didn't even want to look at her. John gave Molly a nearly drooling smile and went to go make a poor attempt to flirt with her, Sherlock was not going to let that happen. His eyes roamed the blog that he generally ignored. Quickly, before John managed to say anything stupid to Molly he called his blogger to come look at the site. It had been months since he'd looked at the damn thing. Why was the counter stuck at 1895 anyways? And just why did he have to use the deerstalker picture? It made him look like a spectacle after all.

"People like the hat." John argued.

"No they don't! What people?" Sherlock whined.

Molly stayed rooted to the floor where she'd walked in, close enough to Sherlock that it would be nautical to speak together. When he continued to ignore her soft beseeching eyes however she turned to greet Mrs Hudson. They spoke about the abysmal state of the older ladies hip and Molly attempted to assure the woman that she'd seem worse with a comment about her work. It came out wrong and Molly was quick to make an attempt at recovery when Sherlock cut her off by snapping. "Don't make jokes Molly."

He heard her nervous little whisper of"No. Sorry." Molly always was terrible in social situations. Tonight was apparently no different. Not that he was doing to so well himself.

Lestrade showed up at Molly's side then with a glass of red wine ( and the look of a drooling dog as his eyes roamed her. She must have sensed the impropriety in his leer and asked him about the plans he had mentioned to her earlier in the season. "Wasn't expecting to see you, thought you going to be in Dorset for Christmas." Molly appeared a bit unsure and defensive with her body language

Gavin responded with a remembering smile and told her how he was heading there in the morning, how he and the wife were back together, it's all sorted. The fool grinned.

Back together yes. Faithful wife...no. "No, she's sleeping with the PE teacher." Sherlock said to himself, quiet unaware it had come out out loud as he continued to advert his eyes.

Molly turned to Sherlock's flat mate "And John, I hear you're off to your sisters. Is that right?" The man looked a bit surprised that she knew that as he murmured confrontation all the whole looking between the two. "

John cleared his throat. "Yeah." Was all he said. He was fully bewildered how Molly would have known, or card about that information.

"Sherlock was complaining...saying." She finished belatedly and awkwardly by way of explanation as to how she'd known such personal information about a man she'd barely spoken too. Molly's eyes flashed over to Sherlock, looking for guidance. None was coming. John however, was still on his way past slight inebriation and allowed it to pass, a rare Christmas gift in and of itself.

"Yeah... First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze." He proclaimed happily, although a note of strain.

Still not looking up from the laptop Sherlock let out an uncaring "Nope." To which he noticed, distractedly all be it, that John visibly tensed up.

"Shut up, Sherlock." His roommate commanded. Not that Sherlock cared. In fact he'd lost interest in John Watson and his drunken sibling all together. No, he was far to angry at himself. He was failing. Reminding himself that was supposed to be ignoring Molly, wasn't working. Something about her over done appearance was nagging him. It was such an easy mistake that it angered Sherlock. He wasn't supposed to be listening to every little thing she said, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be responding to everything that she did. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she lifted the glass her sip from the red wine that touched the sweet deep red of her lips.

Red.

His eyes flicked over and assessed her gift bag. One package stood out from the rest. It's elegant wrappings clashing with the cheaper paper on the others. More thought had gone into the top with the bow rather than the other. She had a very special recipient for that one gift. A romantic interest then.

Had things with Max moved forward with their not yet dating but dating? Was this Molly's way of moving things forward between them? And just what would she be giving him? Jealously flames through him.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him." Sherlock pronounced and turned towards his newest guest.

"Sorry, what?" She asked confused.

Not bothering to wait for her to catch up he continued on. "In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." He motioned toward the bags Molly had brought with her. From somewhere behind his friends tried in vain to get his attention, to distract him with a drink. He refused to be distracted though. " Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag. Perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." At that he stood and crossed the small space, closer to Molly, nearly brushing her as he walked past. "It's for someone special, then."

Oh it was such fun to show off a bit. Molly was shifting her eyes between the package and Sherlock looking nervous. He was enjoying watching her look at last uneasy, a fair pay-back for how she'd made him feel since her arrival. He pushed that though aside to examine later and pressed on with his deduction. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has 'lurrrve' on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing." Sherlock smiled smugly across to his other guests enjoying the stupid looks of as he lifted to tag to read the name he was so positive that would be there. What other words would Molly have chosen to say to him? The outfit was a statement, but she was trying to hard. Didn't she know that she didn't need to try and be someone she wasn't? There was no reason she needed to try to - "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts ..."

It wasn't Max's name on the card. It was his own.

His eyes slammed shut, trying to deny the words written. (Italics Dearest Sherlock... Love Molly XXX)

Molly didn't run from him. She didn't cry. Instead, she just looked at him, with an infinite disappointment and hurt she stood her ground. "You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always."

Sherlock turned away, aiming to move away, needing space needing escape. He had hurt Molly, intentionally hurt her all because he was being petty and yes, jealous. And Molly, knew it. She didn't bow up and cry, she called him out, almost patiently instructing him how badly he'd behaved. Molly, always so kind while he was always so horrible. But still, she loved him. Not just the good him, but in his awful moments too.

He spun back. Needing to say it before he lost the courage. "I am sorry like. Forgive me." He leaned down and pressed his lips on her soft, warm cheek. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." Her unsure eyes met his own and held there. He'd open her gift attempt to be a charming host and if he was lucky he'd have a quiet moment to apologize further to her.

That however was not to be. Irene's personalized text alert sounded sending her throaty moan out into the room. He watched as Molly flushed with embarrassment,"No that wasn't me!" Lest the company think that had been her erotic reaction they heard.

"No, that was me." Sherlock reached into his suit coats breast pocket to remove his phone opened the message from Irene. From behind Molly came some (expected) idiotic comment from Lestrade

"Fifty-seven?" John counted aloud.

Momentarily confused Sherlock asked what he meant. One was all Irene had sent. _Mantelpiece_

"Fifty-seven of those text messages.

At least that I've heard. " John clarified. The fool didn't he realize that he wasn't helping the situation in any way.

Sherlock focused on the message. Was it a code? A clue? There on his own mantelpiece was the answer. A direction. "Thrilling that you've been counting." Sherlock said distractedly. Red. Deep blood red. Just the shade of Irene's lipstick. Unlike Molly, the woman's choice of paper was no accident. Lifting the box he feels the silk tie she choose with care. The weight of the box feels familiar and a suspicion of what is in the box began to take hold. He murmured an excuse and headed towards the privacy of his room.

John, curious man that he was followed alongside. "What's going on Sherlock?"

"I said excuse me." Sherlock said as an excuse and he went through his door, pulling it shut. He said not slowing.

There was only one reason the woman would send him her phone. And a seasonal greeting wasn't it. The party was breaking up... Molly would skip her other parties no doubt and head home. Strong as she was, he had felt her quite the blow tonight. He closed his eyes tight. Molly would have to wait; another woman needed him more tonight. Picking up his own mobile he called his brother.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Warning: reference and allusions to drug use ahead**.

The snow fall had slowed when the car Mycroft sent arrived. Wordlessly, Sherlock donned his Belstaff to head out the door ignoring a questioning John and his glaring girlfriend.

It was over then. Irene Adler would text him no more. Her jewel toned eyes would never look at his own again while her blood red lips would never again utter his, or anyone else's name. The alabaster skin, never to tempt and allure her clients and victims.

She had played her game, and it cost her with her life.

Sherlock sat still and deep in though as he rode with his brother silently through the snow covered streets. He blindly registered the walk through the empty corridors of St Bartholomew's to the morgue; The hollow echo of his and Mycroft's shoes on the empty linoleum filling the hall and thundering in his head.

"The only one who fit her description. I had her brought here. Your 'home away from home'." Mycroft nearly sang out. Sherlock could have happily broken his nose, but his attention was not on his brother. No, it was drawn the the familiar figure standing across the table.

Molly stood in the half-light over a covered body. She'd been able to change at least, he was glad. There was no way he could stand to see her Dressed as he'd left her earlier.

Still, she drew his attention, as unusually dressed for work as she was. Her hair, no longer teased and styled half back was brushed out and soft. Molly never wore it loose at work. A warm Christmas sweater, soft and an irritating bright Red of course, his conscience nagged. No trace of the sparkly bow or earrings remained. She refused Sherlock's eye as he walked closer to stand over the body under the sheet. "You didn't need to come in, Molly." The words and their accompanying tone were harsher than he intended them to be. Damn it, could he so nothing right when it came to women tonight?

Molly cracked a nervous smile. "That's okay." Her eyes gave a subtle quick shift towards Mycroft. She'd clearly been coerced into being here. "Everyone else was busy with... Christmas." Molly did well to keep the pain from covering her face, oh of course he saw it despite her attempt at keeping it under control.

She wasn't all right, but then again, neither was he. And if he was right about Irene then this night would see that nothing was right again for a long time.

With a nod from him to proceed Molly pulled back the sheet to the standard height of the chest, "It might be difficult. The face is a bit sort of rather bashed in." Molly apologized. Sherlock knew then that the identity of who the where looking at was kept hidden from Molly. Something not all that unusual when Mycroft was involved.

"That's her isn't it?" Mycroft fished clearly avoiding looking at the corpse. He never had been one for the facts of death, but was truly callous to what was in front of him.

Unfortunately, the face was completely destroyed. It wasn't enough to go on. The once lush lips, and sparking eyes were indistinguishable among the blood and tissue. While the hair was the right color and style, he needed more proof. "Show me the rest of her." Sherlock commanded.

Molly gave a nervous laugh but didn't question it. She pulled the sheet back but kept her eyes glued to Sherlock's face as it roamed the nude corpse between them.

Sherlock allowed his gaze to roam over the prone form. 32 inch chest, 24 inch waist, and 34 inch hips. All the marks matched. "That's her." Irene. Gone. Never to text, tease, flirt or terrorize a governments again.

Her dangerous games finally came to violent ends. He spun on his heel and marched out towards the hall. Behind him, he heard his brothers cool dismissal and Molly's agonized question. "How did Sherlock know her by ... not her face?"

Molly.

Irene.

He felt numb. Completely cold and numb. Mycroft came up behind him to offer him a cigarette along with an empty holiday greeting. Oh, a test he well knew. Mycroft was always doing so, even still, Sherlock excepted. He needed some relief from his head and nicotine's toxic song called to him, promising him peace and relief. "Smoking indoors- isn't there one of those one of those law things?"

Smoking a cigarette indoors, breaking rules. Irene would appreciate that, he surmised allowing himself that small dose of sentiment.

Mycroft lit the cigarette. "We're in a morgue. There's only so much damage we can do."

_Speak for yourself,_ Sherlock thought. He could do it with one word to his preferred pathologist.

"How did you know she was dead?" His brother asked after the first draw.

"She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up." It hadn't been enough to save her in the end.

"Where is the item now?" Ah, of course, time to get back to business then. National security and what all.

A commotion out in the main hall caused he and Mycroft to turn. A family, clearly grieving a lost loved one they knew.

"Look at them. They all care so much." Should he be crying over the loss of Irene? In truth he felt many stabs of thoughts about it, but no need to wail and cry. No desire to cling. "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"

"All lives end. All hearts are broken." The family continued to weep. Life was never going to be the same for them. Forever scared by their loss. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. "

No. No, it most certainly wasn't. He wanted to remove this pain far, far from him. The faster the better. Pulling in a deep inhale of smoke he thought about how unsatisfactory it was. "Is this low tar?"

A voice in the back of his mind whispered of just what could ease the pain. It strengthened and sharpened into the voice of the woman who lay dead in the too behind him. A soft gentle alluring promise of sweet, quickly forgiving relief.

"Well, you barely knew her." Mycroft reasoned, although they both knew it was just his attempt to defuse Sherlock. It had the opposite effect. Sherlock was ready to give in. Regret after regret flooded over him.

So did the voice telling him to give in. It's caresses were becoming clinging, strong arms pulling and attempting to lead in to the depths of hell.

Sherlock made his way out the door, away from his controlling brother and towards the grieving family. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft." He spoke, letting the echo carry his voice back to his brother.

"And a happy new year" Mycroft sang after him as he turned to back towards the way they had came.

Sherlock knew his brothers next action. Knew he'd place his guard dogs on high alert. Tonight was absolutely a danger night, after all.

Entering into the hall, he stood away from the grieving family as they continued to cling to one another in their loss, how they openly shared the pain together, crying and holding and speaking false words of comfort. It didn't bring their loved one back. No their son and brother was gone. But still they clung and wept. It didn't fix it. What was the point? He was gone.

Just as Irene was gone.

Sherlock wasn't feeling the urge to cry. No tears pinpricked his eyes and begged release. No anger or need to last out... He simply felt almost disappointed and aching.

It was a strange feeling. Loss, yes he most certainly felt that they had lost certain... opportunities. The Woman beguiled and excited. She'd been intriguing, clever and beautiful. He deeply, deeply wished she wasn't dead.

A door opening quietly behind him alerted Sherlock that Molly had now joined him. She was draped in her dress coat from earlier in the night, hands wrapping her overly large scarf around her. "It's picking up again out there." Sherlock continued to stand and study the group out of his parochial vision. Molly placed a glove hand on his arm. "Come on then, let's get out of here, Sherlock."

"May I escort you home, Molly?" Sherlock asked softly, allowing his vulnerability to show through. The pull of his past vices was getting stronger, he needed something, someone to help hold him back. Molly, her fairy-light-lit flat and a cup of cocoa might be the only thing that could do that. Molly wouldn't ask him to talk, she's sit, be a comfort. He'd sit and be at peace with her.

"There's a car waiting for me already, courtesy of your brother." She spoke continuing on the path. Sherlock knew she wasn't in the mood to be a listening ear. Knew he didn't deserve it either. But he knew her love of him would make her her say yes. He was a big enough dick to ask her too after everything that he'd put her through already. Make that Mycroft and himself.

"Mycroft must have offered you a great deal to get you to come tonight." He said as they passed though the doors, into the gently falling snow.

"Oh, a great great deal. I got a free holiday to St Tropez coming to me now." They reached the car and Sherlock opened the door, allowing her to slide in first. "It would be nice to be somewhere... warm right now."

"Not dreaming of a white Christmas then?" He gently asked as the car slowly pulled off.

"The sooner this Christmas passes, the better." Molly swore adamantly, eyes locked out her window.

"I'm sorry..."

"No." She snapped. "No, Please don't start that up again." Molly turned to look at him. "The identity of the woman, it's classified. But, if she is who I think she is... Well then, Sherlock, I am so sorry for your loss."

Sherlock was trained to hide information. He steeled his muscles and said simply. "She was no one of any importance to me."

Molly didn't look for a moment as if she believed it. She just continued to stare at him before reaching out and grabbed his gloved hand within her own. Anchoring him and his racing thoughts down to earth. Central intelligence lost out on a good agent in Molly Hooper, for he knew she could read about people. Alive, dead she could read them. It was a comfort, in a way to know that someone was able to still see through him.

They sat silent, hands clasped as the cab passed through the eerily empty streets- the snow keeping people home to celebrate rather then being out and about. Still, the drive was slow although holding his friends hand he could care less. It soon came apparent though that the car wasn't heading to Molly's flat.

"Molly, are you sure that I can't see you home?"

Molly stiffened and looked hard at him as she squeezed his hand. "Please, don't take this the wrong way Sherlock, but the last thing I want to do tonight is be around you, caring for you." Molly smiled sadly and looked at their joined hands. "It might lead to me saying or doing something that I, or maybe we both would regret tomorrow. And we... I need time. We both need some time."

Pulling her hand free of his she both of her hands to either side of his face. "But listen to me, Sherlock. Listen good and hard! You don't need _them. _John, Mrs. Hudson, they both are in there and they'll stay with you. You are not alone in this. Your friends, your family. We're here. Just...please, don't use tonight. Please?" Sherlock stared into her dark eyes and nodded. Molly exhaled a deep breath. And leaned forward to kiss his forehead softly. "We will get you through this. We will. You aren't alone, Sherlock." She pulled back releasing him.

"Now go up. I know John is confused and worried about you. Go." She shoved, almost playfully at him.

"But, when can I come? Tomorrow?" He asked with a child's needy uncertainty.

Molly looked panicked and about to tell him no before she closed her eyes and answered. "Yes. I'm all... I'm all free. Tomorrow."

"Okay. Till to tomorrow then Molly. And, thank you."

He held her eyes till she gave a tiny nod The threw the door open, swiftly crossing the snow covered street to enter his building. The car, and it's passenger waited until he closed the door behind him and he'd felt the watchful gaze of Mycroft's spy's from their shadows.

With the door closed, he stilled. The pain was still there deep, raw aching and absolutely nothing felt as it should but there was a sort of haze over it. A calmness. Molly had been right. Did she always have to be right? Evidence of John and Mrs. Hudson, even his brothers caring was all around him. He wasn't alone with the dangerous voice calling to him he had guards, protectors. Friends.

He was greatful for them, even as they tried to hind their activities while he'd been gone. They were everywhere. John's over nonchalant reading of the book, no demanding questions put him at ease even further.

"I just hope you haven't messed up my sock index this time." Sherlock accused, heading back to his room. He flung of his coat and flung himself to his bed.

Once his body had settled, Sherlock allowed his mind to sort through the important aspects of the day. It had been a boring day right up until Molly's sparkling arrival to the party. From there it had shot straight into flames.

Oh Molly. The dress, hair and lips... Had she really dressed up for him? Why had she felt the need to do so? Didn't she know that she didn't need to pretend to be anyone else for him to appreciate her? And her gift... Shooting up Sherlock walked back out to the lounge to find where it had been left and grabbed it before returning to his bed.

Carefully, he removed the bow and its paper opening up the white box beneath his heart thundered as he lifted the tissue paper to reveal a fine cream colored chenille scarf... Covered in cat faces. Below it, several packets of powder... her signature cocoa mix.

A note lay on the bottom:

_Merry Christmas Sherlock. The comforts of my home to yours. The warmth of a soft cat and some cocoa. If you find yourself too lonely just let me know and you can have me too to keep you company. All from the comforts of Baker Street! _

_Love, Molly XXX_

Sherlock laughed, A brief bark of laughter that hurt more than it relieved his mood. The scarf was atrocious, a joke, he knew while the note was her real gift. Molly's real risk that she took and labored so over.

The one he's berated her over and made them both out to be fools.

Molly who'd offered her affection, her presence and he, the idiot who couldn't except it, even after all this. How could he? He was dangerous. His life wasn't safe, nor was his company. The loss of Irene certainly clarified that.

But Sherlock Holmes was willing to admit that as much as being alone protected him, the care of his friends saved him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**I want to give some major credit to all of you who have been waiting so patiently for me to continue to continue this story. I relied HEAVILY again on Ariane DeVere's transcript to get the dialog correct. It still surprises me just how easy this story has fit the canon and its been a painful joy to write. You all are the best. Feel free to find me on Tumblr, same user name and very much Sherlolly and nonsense. **

**Love, Mistykins06**

**And finally, Sadly, I own nothing. All credit can go to Moffit, Gatiss, Doyle and the amazing L.M Montgomery. **


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